


Subtext

by Kasuchi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 30 Kisses Challenge, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty missing moments from OotP, each with a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subtext

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing! And this was fun. All these take place during / before / after OotP.

**1\. look over here**

"Hey, Hermione?"

She looked away from the book she had been poring over for the OWLs. "What is it, Ron?"

He pointed at the wall, where an odd stain discolored the otherwise spotless wall. "What d'you reckon this is?"

She walked over to where he was and crouched down a little in front of him. "I...I don't know," she said, a little worried. "Should we tell Professor McGonagall? Or Filch?"

"Nah," said Ron, straightening slightly. "We're prefects. We can handle it." He drew out his wand and made to touch it when Hermione grabbed it and stopped him.

"What are you _doing_?!"

"Poking it with my wand?"

"But you don't know what it is!"

"So?"

"You could get hurt!"

"Aw, Hermione. I didn't know you cared." He sardonically put a hand over his heart and sighed.

Hermione flushed scarlet, though in rage or embarrassment he was unsure. "Of course I do! You're...you're my best...friend..." She avoided his gaze.

There was an awkward silence; Hermione looked at her hands clasped around Ron's wand, and he stared at the crown of her head.

"So," he remarked casually, breaking the silence, "what should we do?"

She let go of his wand and drew her own. "Charms, of course!" She turned around pointed her wand at the wall. "Scourgify!"

Nothing.

She tried a different spell. "Revelo!"

Nothing.

"AUGH." She let out a scream of frustration and glowered at the wall.

"Why don't you try my idea?" Ron remarked innocently.

She shot him a look over her shoulder. He held his hands up. "Hey, I'm just saying...it couldn't hurt."

She sighed and turned back to the wall. Slowly, she inched her wand to the mysterious stain. Ron leaned forward with her, bracing his hands on her shoulders. The tip of her wand touched the wall and the stain wiggled.

She screamed and jerked back so fast he didn't shield himself. His lips touched her hair, and some often-quiet part of his mind noted it smelled like apples and cinnamon.

"Did you see that?!"

"Yeah," he replied a little breathlessly.

"It _moved_!" She squealed.

"Hermione, I thought you were a Gryffindor." He smirked lightly.

"Ron Weasley! Are you implying I'm not brave? Because if you are, I'll gladly point out the many times I've--"

"Hermione, look!"

The stain was gone.

"What the..."

"That's..."

They looked at one another for a moment.

"I think I'm tired. Goodnight, Ron."

"'Night, Hermione."

And they parted ways.

* * *

**2\. news; letter**

_"Dear Hermione,_

_I hope your holiday is going well. I bet your mum and dad really miss you; they aren't used to you being gone, are they?_

_Hogwarts is so quiet at Christmas. The grounds get covered with snow, and it looks like the whole campus is a blank canvas. Harry and I made snow angels and snowmen and had a big war; it was a lot of fun, even if Fred and George were prats about the whole thing._

_We didn't even _think_ of homework. (I'm smirking, just so you know.)_

_Anyway, I thought I would just write to wish you a Happy Christmas._

_\- Ron_

_PS - We promise, we'll look up Flamel."_

She folded the letter quietly and touched it to her lips. Four years later, and he was still uncannily sweet at times. She smiled a little and tucked the letter back into her keepsakes box.

"Hermione?"

She looked to the door, where Ron stood, an unreadable look on his face.

"We're about to leave for St. Mungo's."

"Okay. I'll be right down." She turned away from him to put away the little box.

"Hey, Hermione?" His voice was a lot closer, and she wondered how he'd been able to move so quickly.

"Yes, Ron?"

"You've got an ink smudge on your face. Here--" Gently, he cupped her face and rubbed away the ink stain with the sleeve of his other hand. "There," he said, voice a little strangled, "all gone."

She smiled softly. "Thank you."

* * *

**3\. jolt!**

Madame Pince had decided that nine was late enough. Hermione sighed deeply. It simply wasn't fair, she decided.

She passed a posted paper and gazed forlornly at it as she passed. The Educational Decrees angered her and saddened her in the same breath. This year was shaping up to be one of the worst yet, including the time she was Petrified. Although, she mused, walking on, she couldn't remember much from then.

She was walking down a corridor, all alone, when a chill ran down her spine. Glancing around furtively, she sped up a little; perhaps it was best to make for the Fat Lady a little faster tonight.

The painting was about two corridors away when she felt a hand clasp around her mouth and snake around her waist. Her eyes widened considerably and a jolt ran through her. She began to struggle when a voice breathed in her ear, "Don't make a sound."

She froze and craned her neck to see a few strands of red hair. "Mmmph?" _Ron?_

The hands let go, and she turned to Ron. "RON!"

His hand was back over her mouth, and a finger to his lips indicated she should be quiet. The look in his eyes made her obey, and he pulled her to the darkest corner. A large, grotesque shadow loomed from where she came, then shrunk to reveal Dolores Umbridge's unpleasant figure.

Hermione stifled a gasp as the frog-like woman passed, then went around the corner out of sight. Both of them let out breaths they hadn't realized they were holding.

"Ron, how...?"

"You were in the library during dinner -- again -- when she said that tonight's curfew was 8:30. I knew she wouldn't let you off even if you were in the library. When you weren't in the common room, I reckoned I'd find you. If she caught us, at least we could try passing it off as duties or something." He grinned at her.

"That was really nice of you Ron, but," she moved closer to him, "how dare you scare me like that!" She swatted him.

"Hey!" He held up his hands, and she could still see the print her lip balm left on his palm.

"Yeah, okay. Let's head back."

* * *

**4\. our distance and that person**

"I never thought three feet would make me want to scream."

Ron smiled at her ruefully. "I've never agreed with you more."

"But...I'm worried about Harry."

Ron's face darkened. "So'm I."

"I just...Sirius was the closest he's ever gotten to having a real dad."

"I know."

"How is he going to handle this?"

"Dunno. Reckon he'll get quiet again."

"Ron...if you'd lost your dad at Christmas, how'd you have managed?"

His eyes hardened. "I think I'd have been angry. Then quiet. Sad, for a long time." He shifted and winced.

"Do the scars still hurt?" She welcomed the subject change.

"A little. Not really. Just...twinges, you know? It's...it's more the skin than the scars, if that makes sense."

She carefully picked herself out of the bed, hissing when her bare feet touched the cold stone floor.

"What-what are you doing?"

"Coming over to your bed."

"Should you be doing that?" His voice was a little higher than normal.

"It can't hurt."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"You're admitting you don't know something?!" She was within arm's reach, and he laid his hand across her forehead. "You really think you oughta be out of bed?"

She smiled and brushed his hand off, settling at the foot of his bed. "I'm fine. Now, where does it hurt?"

"As in, right now?"

" _Yes_ Ron," she sighed exasperatedly.

"Actually, nothing really hurts right now--Oi!" She had leaned across the bed and now tugged on his arm, pushing the sleeve up, and revealed the scars. Scars she hadn't seen before.

"Oh, Ron..." she breathed.

"They're really not as bad as they look," he insisted quietly.

"But they're all red and blotchy," she looked at him, a pained expression on her face.

"Hermione, I'm okay. Really," he added emphatically, locking eyes with hers.

She pointed at one monstrous-looking scar. "Is that the worst of them?" He nodded silently.

She touched a hand to her lips and then pressed her fingers gently to the wound.

* * *

**5\. "ano sa" ("hey, you know....")**

"Hey, you know, Harry's doing a really good job."

She looked over to where Harry was working with Neville. "He is, isn't he?"

"This-this was a really great idea, Hermione." Ron scuffed his shoe and wouldn't meet her gaze.

She pinked. "Thank you, Ron." Her eyes flicked up and she gasped. "Oh!"

"What is it?" He looked up too, and his eyes widened. "Mistletoe!" He whispered in a strangled voice.

"It's magicked, I'm thinking," she said tonelessly. "We can't move until we kiss."

"Erm," was about all Ron managed. Blushing furiously, they moved closer to one another. As if on cue, they both leaned in for the kiss.

It was soft and sweet, she thought. He tasted like peppermint, and she had to smile.

"Hermione? _Hermione?_ "

She snapped out of her daydream and realized she was unfrozen.

"Hermione, it's your turn, now." Ron paused and looked at her quizzically. "Are you all right? You look flushed."

"Just a little warm, that's all. You ready?" She shrugged off the outermost layer of her robes and raised her wand.

* * *

**6\. the space between dream and reality**

Ron groaned softly and stared up at the canopy of his bed. It was past midnight, and though tomorrow was Sunday, he still had to wake early. But the first Quidditch match of the season -- his first match -- haunted him. All his mistakes, real and imagined, hung his mind. He simply couldn't shut them out. Sighing, he looked to Harry's bed.

He'd been banned from the field. They were out three players, and with him being inept...

Yes, it was official: they had a snowball's chance in Hell of winning the Cup this year.

Sighing heavily again, he sank into the half-asleep state and let his mind wander.

He felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder, even through the layers of robes. He felt her body press against his for a moment. But, most of all, he remembered the feel of her lips on his skin.

He smiled at this as his mind calmed down and let him drift off to sleep.

* * *

**7\. superstar**

"Why are you still in contact with him?"

"Who?" She blinked large, brown eyes at him innocently.

"Don't play stupid. You know bloody well who I mean! Krum," he spat the name out. "Why are you still writing to him? Friends with him? He certainly wanted more."

Her eyes flashed. "What does it matter to you, anyway, Ron? It's not like you're my brother or anything!"

"I'm your friend!"

"And that's _all_. If you were really my friend, you'd support me. You won't even admit you're jealous, or even why that's so!"

"Oh, you're wrong there, Hermione." His voice went low and his eyes cold. "If anything, I think you're the one who's confused."

She glared at him. "That doesn't change anything!" She gestured decisively with her hand. "You still have no right to protest my writing _Viktor_. You're just my _friend_ , and what I do is none of your business."

"Oh, I think it is." Swiftly, he kissed her, hard. She braced her hands on his chest, and he gripped her elbows and they kissed. They broke apart, breathlessly. Her eyes shone and there was color high in her cheeks.

" _That_ makes him my business." He looked right into her eyes, determined.

Ron shook his head out of the daydream. He sighed heavily and went back to reading the History of Magic text.

* * *

**8\. our own world**

"You know," she said, out of the blue one day as they patrolled the hall. "When I was younger, I wanted a world where I'd fit in."

He smirked a little. "A world filled with books?"

She didn't glare at him, surprisingly. "No, a world with friends."

He froze and she kept walking a few steps. Suddenly, the girl in front of him, the smart, clever, amazing witch before him, was totally foreign to him. "Friends?" He breathed.

She turned and smiled a little sadly. "Yes, friends. Growing up, they thought I was 'weird' and 'strange'. I didn't have a lot of friends, and most of them left at one point or another."

He flashed back to first year. She had tried so hard, hadn't she?

He hugged her suddenly, pressing a kiss in her hair. "At least we have our own world."

"Ron?"

"I...I promise, I'll always be your friend."

She smiled the most brilliant smile he'd ever seen.

* * *

**9\. dash**

"Bollocks!"

"What? What is it?"

"I'm late!" He grabbed books and papers off the table and started shoving them inelegantly into his bag.

"What for?"

"Angelina called a special practice tonight. We're doing a mock game. She thinks I've improved."

Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "You have," she said fiercely.

"That--that means a lot," he confessed. He stood, bag slung over one shoulder.

She stood up, too. Swiftly, she kissed him on the cheek, like she had months ago. "You'll do fine, I'm certain."

He gaped at her. Had she just...in the...him?

She laughed lightly and pushed him to the exit. "Go! You're late already!"

He shot her a grateful smile and dashed out of the library, Madame Pince's admonishments following him out the door.

* * *

**10\. #10**

The perfume was called "No. Ten," and it had caught his eye immediately.

It wasn't in any special packaging. It was a muted silver box, accented in gold lettering. The name glinted slightly, but was overshadowed by more expensive, more flashy boxes.

He wasn't sure why it had caught his eye. Jewel among baubles, really. The tester bottle was open, and he had sniffed delicately. It was...earthy, almost. Rain, perhaps. Spring rain. It smelled clean, it wasn't strong, and it reminded him unequivocally of Hermione.

He had watched her, surreptitiously, open the gift. Her eyes had widened in surprise at what it was. Scrambling, she opened the note that had gone with it, and smiled slightly. Gently, she had touched the card to her lips and contemplated the silver box. Then Ginny had called out to her, and she had set the card down.

He saw the prints from her lip balm on the card. Quietly, he had picked up the card and pressed a kiss there.

* * *

**11\. gardenia**

"Hermione, do you know what that is?" He pointed to a small bush of white and yellow flowers.

"Oh," she breathed. "They're gardenia flowers!"

They were in greenhouse one, the one with more "normal" plants than the others, mostly for potions.

Gently, she picked one, sniffed it gently, and sighed. "These always remind me of my mother."

He leaned closer to the bush and sniffed delicately. "It's nice."

"Isn't it? Oh, they're so hard to grow up here; they need a warm, humid environment."

"Well, we're halfway there," he remarked lightly. One of the blossoms caught his eye; it was larger than the others. Gently, he pulled it away and turned to Hermione.

"Hermione?"

She looked up at him, standing almost uncomfortably close. Tenderly, he brushed her hair behind one ear and tucked the gardenia there. Then, he kissed her cheek.

"What..."

"Mum'd always make us kiss Ginny if we gave her flowers," he said, looking everywhere but her face. His ears were scarlet.

"Ron?"

He caught her eye.

"I love it."

* * *

**12\. in a good mood**

He found her in the common room, poring over a book, munching on chocolate.

"You're in a good mood," he commented mildly.

She looked up at him, candy bar halfway to her mouth. She angled it at him. "Want a bite?"

He paused, then sat next to her, nicking the bar from her offering hand.

"So," he said, breaking off a square. "What d'you have there?"

"It's _Hogwarts, a History_ ," she replied, flicking through it.

He groaned. "Don't you have it memorized yet?"

She ignored him. "I'm trying to see if can find any evidence of this happening before."

"Umbridge?" She nodded. "Okay, that I get. What's the chocolate for?"

She flushed scarlet. "I'd rather not say."

"Oh, c'mon Hermione. I'm your best mate, aren't I? What couldn't you possibly tell me?"

"You asked," she muttered. She marked the place in her book and looked him in the eye. "Chocolate seems to help with my PMS."

He blanched, and she continued.

"It makes me, for lack of a better term, less of a witch."

There was a long pause, and then---

"You're joking!" Ron doubled over with laughter. Hermione pouted.

"I'm serious!"

"And that's why it's funny!" His rumbling laughter was infectious and Hermione was compelled to join him. They laughed so hard, their faces turned red.

When they had calmed down a little, they simply looked at one another. The firelight danced in his eyes. Suddenly, they were kissing, and he tasted of chocolate.

"Hermione?"

She snapped back. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked what the chocolate was for." He looked at her quizzically.

She grinned roguishly, and he was stunned at how alluring the foreign expression made her.

"You sure you want to know?"

* * *

**13\. excessive chain**

"So, now what?"

He looked at her through splayed fingers. "I'm sorry?"

"We can't sit through meetings, we can't listen at the door, we can't leave...So, what do we do?"

"Homework, I suppose."

She looked at him. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You just suggested we do homework. Less than a month into holiday."

His eyes widened in horror. "You don't reckon this house is able to addle people's brains or something, d'you?"

She smirked and looked uncannily like a brunette Ginny for a moment. "Nah." She looked around. "But, you know, this place could use some sprucing up."

"Reckon so. There's dust everywhere, and who knows what lurks in the corners."

"Since we're living here for another month or so, we ought to make this place more hospitable."

"Sure. It's not like we have anything better to do, anyway."

And somehow, the next day, they found themselves attacking the main room. Ron had somehow found a ladder to clean the chandelier with.

"Bloody stupid chandelier," he muttered. "60 metres of effing chain. Blast it all--!" The ladder wavered and he grabbed it desperately to stop from falling.

Hermione astutely ignored his antics in favor of dusting the bizarre collection of things in the room. "You all right?" she called mildly over one shoulder.

"Yeah, peachy," he spat caustically, picking up the polishing cloth.

They worked in silence for a few moments. The ladder wobbled again, but Ron didn't notice for attacking the chandelier. The ladder swayed and fell out from under him.

"Holy--!" He grabbed onto the chandelier itself as the ladder fell with a resounding clatter.

"Ron! Are you okay?"

"Apart from being forty feet in the air, you mean? Yeah, I'm all right. _Get me down!_ "

"How? The ladder's broken!" The age of the wood had finally taken as much as it could; the rungs were split neatly in two.

"Wingardium Leviosa me, Hermione!"

"But the Statute..."

"Then get Mum or something!" He flailed a little, and the chandelier gave an ominous creak. He froze. "Hurry," he called in a hoarse voice.

She dashed off, and he hung limply in the air, trying not to move. The chandelier creaked again and he sucked in a deep breath.

"Ron!" Hermione called, dashing back in. "I can't find anyone!"

Just then, the chandelier, like the ladder, gave way. Some part of him distantly noted that today was not a good day before he collided with the floor, the chandelier landing a short distance away.

His vision whited around the edges and went blurry. A female figure leaned over him and he sat up, blinking blearily at her.

"An...gel?" the blurry figure had a halo of hair that shone. Leaning forward, he kissed the spirit on the forehead before blacking out.

Stunned and with a very out cold Ron draped over her, Hermione stared wide-eyed at him before snapping out of it and shaking him. Behind her, the chandelier with its excessive chain sprawled out across the hall. People poured into the room, gasping at the sight.

* * *

**14\. radio-cassette player**

"What is that?"

"What's what?"

"That...thing." He pointed to her radio casette player.

"It's a music-player. There are these cassettes that have music recorded on them. This plays them."

"Oh. What are you listening to?"

She smiled softly. "The Beatles. Want a listen?"

"Sure."

She lifted the headphones over her head and handed them to him. He mimicked how she had put them on and listened. The strains of "Here Comes the Sun" flooded his hearing.

"It's nice."

"Isn't it? I just...I couldn't take the sadness. I needed something, well, happy."

"But...why Muggle music?"

"I just...I wanted distance. Ron, you don't get it. You were born into this world. Vol--Vol--he's been a part of your world your entire life, ever since you were born. You've never been dropped into a world of which you were a total stranger." She looked at the ceiling. "Sometimes, it gets to be too much. Sometimes, it's nice to remember where I came from and what it was like."

There was a tense silence in which neither looked at the other.

"I thought electric--" he pronouced the word carefully "--things didn't work in the Wizarding world?"

"Just Hogwarts; too much residual magic in the air. I guess there's not so much here."

They sat in comfortable silence until the track ended. Slipping off the headphones, he handed them to her. She thanked him and put them back on. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the sound.

"Hermione?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him quizzically. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hairline.

"We'll be okay."

She smiled and he walked away.

* * *

**15\. perfect blue**

She leaned against the tree and peered at the sky.

Perfect, azure blue.

And she couldn't help but think of Ron.

She leaned her head back and sighed. The Department of Mysteries had left in its wake a long recovery with who-knew-what in store. At least now the Ministry couldn't live in denial, she thought bitterly. It was small comfort.

She studied her scarred knuckles and clenched her hands. Ron had been scarred by the brain, the thoughts leaving deep gashes along his arms. She doubted he'd ever wear short sleeves ever again.

A breeze blew by, caressing her face. She closed her eyes to savour the feeling and felt a soft kiss brush her lips.

"Hermione!" A voice called from far away.

She turned to the voice and saw Ron jogging up to her. "Hey," he panted, "come on! The feast'll start soon." She locked eyes with him

Perfect, azure blue.

He offered her a hand and she grasped it and stood. She smiled at him and squeezed gently.

They walked into the Great Hall holding hands.

* * *

**16\. invincible; unrivaled**

"Checkmate."

She scowled. "That isn't possible!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Hermione, when are you going to realize? I am _the best_. No one can beat me at chess."

"Braggart."

"I speak but the truth."

Grudgingly, she had to admit that he was right. Not that she'd tell him that.

"Whatever." Suddenly, she grew frustrated. "It's sexist, anyway."

He looked taken aback. "I'm sorry?"

"Chess! It's sexist! Only one piece on the board is female; every other is male!"

He smiled a very slow smile that made her knees shake a little. "Hermione, you're so funny."

"What?"

"There's only one female piece on the board, yes," he said, placing it alone on the board between them. "But it's the most powerful piece in the game." His slow grin became a smirk and she had a fleeting, irrational desire to kiss him. "I reckon that's rather telling, don't you?"

"You're saying women have the power?"

"I'm saying women _are_ the power."

She stared incredulously at him for a moment before rising. "Well, then, I suppose I should excercise it, don't you?" Deliberately, she walked up the stairs slowly, stepping differently to accent her gait. When she reached the top of the stairs, she caught him staring at her. Feeling silly already, she winked, blew him a kiss, and disappeared into the girl's dorm.

She didn't see him catch it. And she didn't hear him humming "Weasley is our King".

And she didn't notice the king and the queen pieces kissing on the board.

* * *

**17\. kHz (kilohertz)**

His heart was beating quickly.

(Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum.)

One thousand times a second.

He wasn't ready for this.

He wasn't good enough for this.

He didn't deserve this.

He felt nauseous.

The walk to the Quidditch pitch felt like his death march.

Every step felt leaden.

Then:

"Good luck, Ron."

She kissed him.

One thousand times a second.

(Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum.)

But now for a whole other reason.

* * *

**18\. "say ahh...."**

"Ah!"

"What?"

"I've got it!"

"What?"

"The answer, silly."

"To _what_?"

Mumble.

"Come again?"

"Thirty-seven."

"Blimey! You're there already?"

"Yes..."

Sigh. "Wish I could work faster." Stretch.

Subtle appreciative look. "That's a nice shirt, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah, fits you well. Good color."

"Ah."

"What?"

"The twins gave it to me. Bit of a gift, they said."

"It's new?"

"Yeah."

"I like it. A lot."

"A lot?"

"Yes, a lot. In fact, I like it so much--" Lean forward. Kissing.

"RON!"

Snap out of it.

"Wha-at?" Bellow.

"Keep your head in the game, Weasley!" Glare.

"Ah..." Sigh. Stare at the sky.

* * *

**19\. red**

Red flooded her dreams.

Red house. Red carpet. Red chairs. Red sheets.

And red, red hair.

Thick and short, but just long enough to tangle her fingers in.

Red lips that tasted of wine and felt like heaven.

Kisses that lasted so long they were red in the face from lack of breath.

Red fireworks behind her eyes each time he touched her.

Red heat when blue eyes locked with brown.

But, mostly, she dreamt of red, red hair.

* * *

**20\. the road home**

They stood at the edge of Platform 9 amidst the hustle and bustle of King's Cross. Pensively, the two of them watched Harry walk off, flanked by the Dursleys.

"D'you think they'll believe us?"

Ron snorted. "After that stunt? They'd have to be crazy not to." He ran a hand through his hair.

"Mmm," she murmured. Around them, the band of Aurors broke apart, and the Weasley family's attentions were on Ginny.

Save for Ron.

"Hey, Hermione?" She looked up at him. "We're going to see Harry soon," he started. She nodded and he paused. "Would--" He cut himself off and frowned.

She looked at him, puzzled. "What is it?"

He focused on her, an unreadable expression on his face. She felt heat rise on her skin.

He kissed her, soft and lingering, on the cheek and murmured into her ear, "I'll see you soon." Gently, he traced her jawline with one finger. "Good-bye, Hermione."

He smiled and strolled off to join his family. Behind her, Hermione could hear her mother chattering away about her.

But all Hermione could do was stare.

* * *

**21\. violence; pillage/plunder; extortion**

"We have to decorate the Great Hall?"

"Yes."

"With tinsel?"

"Yes."

"And without help?"

"Yes." Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose wearily.

Ron sighed. "All right, fine. Let's just get this over with." Resignedly. he picked up the box of décor and trudged into the Hall. The high ceilings that greeted them caused them both to sigh in tandem.

"This will take _forever_!" Hermione groaned.

Ron, on the other hand, had unceremoiously dumped out the box and stood over it, wand in hand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The tinsel floated up gently, and Ron turned to Hermione. "Are you going to stick it or not?"

She flushed and applied a sticking charm to the tinsel. They continued, levitating garlands and baubles until all that was left was one final length of tinsel.

"Finally! After this we can go back." Ron raised his wand cheerfully when the tinsel began to move of its own accord. Both of them watched it, wands poised, wondering what was going on.

"Her--urk!" The tinsel darted forward and wrapped itself around his neck. He made gagging sounds while Hermione stood, stunned.

"'Mione!" He sputtered out. "Get--it--off--me!"

She snapped out of her stupor. "Erm...Stupefy!" Red light shot from her wand and narrowly missed Ron. "Impedimenta!" The spell veered away from him.

"AIM!" He called out hoarsely. The edges of his face were turning blue.

"How could it possibly be--?" Then her brow furrowed angrily. "PEEVES!"

The tinsel went limp and the poltergeist materialized out of thin air. With a raspberry and a, "Ha ha!" he flew out of the Great Hall. Hermione shot his retreating figure one final, furious glare before turning to Ron's collapsed figure.

"Ron!" She kneeled next to his figure and shook him. He remained unconscious. She put one ear near his face. "He's not breathing," she murmured. Striving to remember the CPR course she'd taken two summers ago, she plugged his nose and took a deep breath, exhaling into him. She counted to five and tried again. Nothing. She tried once more and pulled back quickly as Ron sat up, coughing hard.

"Come on," she said, offering him a hand, "let's go the Hospital Wing." He grasped her hand and got shakily to his feet. He put a hand over his mouth, then ran it through his hair and followed her out of the Hall.

* * *

**22\. cradle**

The first thing he had seen when he's woken up was her. She was lying on her back, still as stone. Her ankle was in a cradle, elevated and wrapped.

He had tried to turn over and had hissed at the pain. That was obviously not a good idea at the time. Sighing heavily, he had opted to simply watch her.

She was so perfectly still, he thought. The gray light of night made her look paler than she ever had. Not a muscle on her so much as twitched. The rise and fall of her chest was imperceptible, and a patch of bandage on her collarbone and shoulder made his blood feel thick and sluggish.

Suddenly, an image of her Petrified form superimposed itself onto her still figure. A memory rushed back to him. He had been thirteen and desperate. He had kissed her, hoping somehow something would happen. She'd felt cold and had stayed still, as still as she was now, and he had to shake his head to remove the image.

Shaken, he gingerly reached for the goblet on his nightstand. Sipping down about half, he managed to replace it before falling back onto the pillows.

* * *

**23\. candy**

He was a connoseuir of candy.

He knew his Fizzing Whizbees, could dodge Bertie Botts as best as anyone. He loved Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs and Tutle Toffees. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum held fond memories; he remembered out-bubble-blowing Fred and George when he was 6. It was worth getting gum all over him.

But his favorite were sugar quills. Spun sugar so delicate you could blow off parts of them, but strong enough to be bitten. He could hide them in class, use them to write with. He loved sugar quills; something about how they glittered in the light. They looked ephermel, too delicate to last. They often didn't.

He'd noticed she sucked on her quills in first year. Back then, he knew that a sugar quill would be the answer, but they were eleven and not allowed to Hogsmeade. When they were in third year, she'd bought a box and hidden them. "For a rainy day," she'd said. By Christmas, she'd run out again and he'd given her another boxful.

And then they'd stopped talking.

It was in fifth year that he was quieter. He watched her more, then. And he noticed that as her stress level rose, so did her cumpulsion to suck on her quill. An idea was born. He slipped her sugar quills on the sly. When she wasn't looking, he's swap her feather quills for ones of sugar. It was always heartening to see her face light up when she realized it was sugar.

And she always, always smiled at him, just for him, the same smile she gave him in his dreams when he kissed her.

* * *

**24\. good night**

She hums something, some tune that is airy and bright and sad all at once.

You ask her what it is.

She says it's from _West Side Story_ , whatever that is. She says, it's a musical, like a play set to music.

You look at her, a little confused. You ask her if the song has words. The common room is empty; even Harry's gone to sleep. She blushes and nods and you think she's very pretty in the half-light of the low fire. The red of the embers tinges her face in dancing shadows, and you know that this is the image of her you'll always have with you.

She starts to sing. Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night. Tonight there will be no morning star. Tonight, tonight, I'll see my love tonight and for us stars will stop where they are.

You can feel your ears heat and you look away from her. Her eyes shine brightly in the firelight and all of a sudden you feel...something, and you realize that maybe what you think you feel isn't quite deep enough, but you're not ready for that yet, are you?

You inhale sharply and meet her gaze, and, suddenly, the still room is dead silent. All you can hear is your heart thrumming in your ears and all you can feel is an indiscernable tug, a livewire of tension that's collapsing between you and her. Her gaze drifts downward, halting at your chin. You lick your lips self-consciously, and she mirrors you. Something twists in your chest.

You're leaning down, you realize. She's not very tall, not like you, but you like that. She's leaning toward you, too. Her eyes flutter half-closed, and so do yours. In the half-light of the empty common room, you realize something: you're both sixteen, alone in the dark. Anything -- _anything_ \-- could happen, and somehow that doesn't scare you.

You're a fingersbreadth away from one another when the grandfather clock strikes. One, two, three, twelve chimes, but it only takes half of the first to send you both jerking away. You can't meet her eyes until she says your name quietly.

Ron?

You've never heard your name called quite like that before, and it prompts you to look at her.

Good night.

She kisses you on the cheek, soft and lingering. You feel a warmth spread across your body, and you know that this won't nearly be enough, not for much longer.

Then she leaves, and the room is cold.

* * *

**25\. fence**

She had a little corner of the library set aside just for her.

Well, not really, but she liked to think it was. It was hidden, in the recesses of the wing, with shelves boxing her in, and a big window off to one side. Most people felt claustrophobic there; it felt homey to her. The stacks of books fenced her in, and she loved it.

But she loved it more when Ron joined her. Ron, who was too tall for the chairs and table, whose knees always bumped against hers. Sometimes she'd bump his, just to see how he'd react.

He'd stretch every so often, and she'd steal a quick look. The waistband of boxers, a pale expanse of flat stomach, and a fine trail of red-gold hair heading south of his bellybutton; she looked away quickly, having long since stopped blushing over an inch.

Sometimes, when the late afternoon sun filtered in, his hair looked golden and sunkissed, and she wanted to run her fingers through it. He'd stretch and, sometimes, drape an arm over the back of her chair. If she was lucky, and he was distracted enough, he'd play with a lock of her hair.

His arm was a fence, and she welcomed the weight across her shoulders.

* * *

**26\. if only I could make you mine**

There had been a song, the summer after fourth year, that had come on the radio. He wasn't sure when it was written, or how old it was, but he had known he liked it.

The singer was a voice he didn't know, smooth and clear and emotional all throughout the melody. Every note and every word rang true when she sang it. When he heard that song, he felt his skin rise in gooseflesh; she had a haunting quality to her voice.

But it was the words, the way they arranged themselves, that drew him to the song. It sang of a love lost, as most songs do, but this love was never hers. She had loved and lost out and felt she'd never have him, and she'd never told him. Something about her, about those words, reverberated within him.

They were washing dishes one night when it came onto the airplay. When he heard the opening strums, he set down the dishcloth and turned up the volume. He answered her quizzical look with a shrug. "It's a good song," he replied, and picked up the dishcloth. Over the running water, she could hear him humming along.

"My love," the singer crooned, "My love is gone, to another woman, and I can't help but think to myself: if only I could make you mine..."

"Ron, why do you like this song? It's so sad; it doesn't seem like... _you_."

He shrugged. "I guess I just like the melody," he lied deftly. He grinned mischevously and grabbed a handful of suds and blew them into Hermione's face. She squealed and blew suds back. Ron dodged the bubbles, but slipped on a wet patch and went crashing to the floor, bringing Hermione down with him.

They lay still for a moment, getting oriented, before they realized their position. She was sprawled over him, and he was half sitting, and together they made a very compromising position. His ears went scarlet and she scrambled off him, wiping her hands on her apron.

"I'll show you something," she declared. Walking to the sink, she dipped her hands in the soapy water and withdrew them. Carefully, she blew a bubble between her hands, letting it fly into the air before it popped.

"Hey, let me try," he said, standing carefully. He mimicked her, and a perfect bubble floated through the air before touching her lips and popping.

"Blech!" she cried. "Soap! Ew." She splashed him with the soapy water and he grabbed the sopping dishcloth, both laughing.

In the background, the song continued. "I made him mine in the end!" Cymbals crashed and the last chord faded with it.

* * *

**27\. overflow**

You don't think about him, sometimes.

You avoid him, don't look at him. You miss the hurt look on his face when you brush past, but you feel every nerve stand on end. He'll pass you, and your shoulders will knock, or your hands will touch over a book, and you'll feel it for hours. You can't take your eyes off him, but you can't meet his gaze.

You feel piercing blue eyes on you, smouldering and fiery. You raise your eyes to meet his and there's a plummeting sensation, and then it feels like you can't feel any more for exploding and some part of you has to smile, because that's exactly what he said, once. And you tear your eyes away from his and smile, and you're chilled by the look on his face; he's matured so far and, suddenly, even though you're older you feel much more childish.

You worry you'll overflow, you'll reveal your hand too fast, too soon. He's not where you want him, and boy do you want him, so much you scare yourself. You never expected to end up with a guy like him, ever. He is not the kind of guy you imagined for yourself. You wanted a professor, stuffed shirt type, brainy and always considerate, money maker and domestic.

You got him.

You go outside in the rain and let the water wash over you. It's like a baptism of the soul. Your overflow, the tears, mingle with those of the sky and you feel cleansed, vindicated.

And as the raindrops kiss your smiling mouth, you wonder if his kisses taste the same.

* * *

**28\. Wada Calcium CD3** (It's a calcium pill, for pale people.)

Her father had given her a bottle of calcium tablets.

"For your teeth, love," he'd told her, when she was twelve. "They're still growing, and we want them to be strong." She'd smiled sweetly and packed the bottle into her trunk.

And then she'd forgotten about it.

When Ron had made the Quidditch team, she'd worried. Ron, who chose juice over milk and sugar over vegetables, was sore more than he should have been.

And something, somewhere clicked. "Calcium," the bottle read, "can strengthen muscles in addition to tooth and bone reinforcement."

"Ron?"

"Yeah?" He lay spread-eagle on the floor, exhausted and sore all over.

"Maybe you should use these."

He cracked open one eye. "Whazzat?"

"They're, um, calcium pills."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"They're, um, good for you?"

He rolled his eyes.

"They'll make you less sore?"

He grabbed them, kissed her on the cheek, and dashed out. "Thank you!"

She stood there, in stunned silence, a little smile threatening to burst out.

* * *

**29\. the sound of waves**

She was sitting beside the lake when he found her.

Leaning back, sitting on her outer robes, she looked peaceful for the first time in a long time.

He walked up to her and sat down, resting his chin on a knee. The waves of the lake lapping against the banks was soothing.

The sky pinked and purpled, and the sun turned from bright yellow to blood red. His hair turned auburn in the fading light, and he felt her eyes on him.

Soundlessly, he turned to her, eyes quizzical but not accusatory. They were about a foot apart, and that alone felt like too far. They had almost kissed the night before, and suddenly the air between them was thick with tension.

She sat up and looked him in the eye, slowly shifting closer, the high-tension wire of energy between them collapsing. The distance between them shrunk; a foot, one half, an inch--

Contact.

Her knees gently pressed against his leg, but he kept looking at her. Every nerve was on fire, like the red of the setting sun was something more, and he raised a slightly shaking hand to tuck back a lock of her hair. One of her hands fluttered to his knee, and he caught the other one, entwining his fingers with hers.

She leaned into him, eyes only half open. The roar in his ears -- the sound of waves crashing -- got louder as she got closer, and he felt the edges of his vision blacken as his eyes slid shut.

Three.

Two.

One.

Silence.

* * *

**30\. kiss**

It was chaos.

Ron hadn't imagined it would be like this. Their first, real fight in the war, and they were badly outnumbered. He thanked every deity he could think of for Hermione's idea of the D.A. Without it, he would have been dead by now for sure.

When Harry had given the signal, he had cast _Reducto_ and ran straight ahead, dodging spells left and right before banking left and shooting at the Death Eaters sniper-like from between shelves. When a fireball had been sent his way, he had ran again until he found this, a niche between shelves that was cover enough for the time being.

Ginny was all right; he had seen her Bat-Bogey a Death Eater threatening her. Luna was holding her own, surprisingly, against the others. Her tactic was to hide, then shoot three spells in rapid succession; it was oddly effective. Neville was dodging like the best of them, counter-jinxing as best he could. Harry, of course, was fighting brilliantly.

That left Hermione. He could still feel her hand in his. He wondered--

The shelf above his hiding place splintered ominously, and he threw himself sideways just as it exploded. More seers' figures ghosted out of the broken spheres, muttering in their hollow voices. Was that what Trelawney had sounded like when she had predicted the rise of You-Know-Who in third year?

Vaulting another fallen shelf, he raced past dozens of shelves to get to the door. Harry had grabbed Hermione, but he still had to get to her. Goal firmly in mind, he dodged another Death Eater, tossing off a Stunning Spell at them. There was a shout, there was yelling, and the scent of blood was everywhere.

~*~

Someone was looking out for them.

Hermione blessed James and Lily for being intelligent; Harry's quick thinking had saved them -- her -- once again.

The torrent of glass and splintered wood had been surprising. The ghosts of seers wailed around her, chanting their omens in the monotonous voices of ones possessed. Quite frankly, it sent her reeling. She didn't believe in prophecies, she didn't believe in fortune-telling; she didn't believe in any of it.

So why did she almost _want_ to hear what the specters had to say?

Harry had dragged her forward, away from the others, and pushed her aside to elbow the Death Eater in the face. The hooded figure recoiled, hands clamping over a possibly broken nose. _Make that definitely broken_ , she thought, grimacing at its misshapenness.

The case above her made an ominous creak and she flung herself backwards as it teetered and fell, crushing three Death Eaters from behind. She had only a moment to smile before a shattering sound from nearby sent her hunting for cover. Another shelf, neatly split in two, provided a temporary barrier. It would do for now. The sounds ran together, shouts meshing with the mumble of the seers, into a dull roar of sheer _noise_.

There was another explosion, and she saw Ron headed for her.

~*~

"Ron!" Someone grabbed him and pulled him behind another collapsed shelf. He fell heavily on his knees, determined to stay low behind their barrier. He turned to his rescuer.

"Hermione!" Impulsively, he hugged her. He'd been worried about her; Harry had pulled her forward and that had been the last time he'd seen her.

"You're ok?"

"Just scratched up a little from the glass."

"Me too. And the shelves; I think one broke apart above me."

"Ouch."

An explosion thundered nearby, reverberating around them. Startled, they clung to each other, wincing against the sound.

"Listen," he whispered quickly, holding her at arm's length. "I...I don't know what's going to happen, and I don't know where we'll stand after this, but I have to...I have to..."

"Don't do anything stupid!"

"It's not! I have to--"

"What do you have to do?"

He met her curious, slightly worried gaze with a determined one. "This."

And he kissed her.

They broke apart, slightly breathless and red in the face.

"Ron..."

He hugged her again and whispered in her ear, "I'll meet you on the other side, ok?" Squeezing her hand, he jumped up and ran to where Harry had been, Luna and Ginny catching up to him.

~*~

She sat, stunned, for a moment after he left.

_He kissed me!_

She touched a hand to her lips.

_He_ kissed _me!_

The sound of glass shattering above her broke her out of her reverie.

_I'll meet you on the other side, ok?_

Her mouth hardened into a line. She'd act like a lovesick fool later; right now, she needed to survive.

She counted to three, and ran for the end of the row. Clearing another fallen sphere case, she saw Harry being manhandled by a hooded figure.

" _Stupefy!_ " she cried, and the figure tumbled backwards, unconscious. Falling into step beside Harry, she ran for the end of the row. She found Neville catching his breath behind the ruins of more shelves.

"Neville, come on," she urged. "We have to get to the others." She offered him a hand and he grasped it. Behind Harry, they ran for the door. Barely after Neville's shoelaces were in, Harry slammed the door.

" _Colloportus!_ " Hermione gasped out. The door sealed itself, allowing her to sigh and lean against it; the fading adrenaline rush left her drained. They were only out of the frying pan; there was still the fire.

"Where are the others?" Harry panted, palms on his knees.

Icy dread ran down her spine. _I'll meet you on the other side, ok?_ "They must have gone the wrong way!" Neville placed an arm on her shoulder and Harry closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face.

Touching a hand to her mouth, she prayed they--he--would be all right.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate these to [](http://katieowrites.livejournal.com/profile)[**katieowrites**](http://katieowrites.livejournal.com/) and [](http://delleve.livejournal.com/profile)[**delleve**](http://delleve.livejournal.com/). These two, along with [](http://author-by-night.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://author-by-night.livejournal.com/)**author_by_night** were my betas, and they never failed to greet me with a smile and, "How's the fic coming?" If it wasn't for them, half of these wouldn't be the way they are. So, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for helping me improve sentences, thank you for being honest, thank you for being on the same wavelength as me, thank you for understanding. And thank you, most of all, for your patience.
> 
> Thank you, also, to all my f-list. You guys are amazing and I love you. Thank you for all your support, for being online and taking my idea-bouncing in stride. You guys rock and I couldn't have done this without you.
> 
> 30 kisses, 90 days. That's gotta be some kind of record. XD
> 
> * * *


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